


you mean i can stay?

by juliebee



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Dream Team SMP - Freeform, Dream Team SMP Spoilers, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, all characters are (obviously) their smp counterparts and not real life, no shipping ew, some mild mentions of implied abuse, you get the gist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28188981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliebee/pseuds/juliebee
Summary: “I don’t know who to trust anymore,” Tommy practically whispers. “I don’t know who's on my side. Who's going to hurt me.”in which techno discovers tommy in his home. somewhat canon-compliant, i will not lie i only watch techno's streams so im sorry if some of the finer details are messed up lmaoo i know you're just here for the fluff
Comments: 5
Kudos: 227





	you mean i can stay?

**Author's Note:**

> this takes me back to when id write minecraft self insert fanfictions in middle school. i need that damn vaccine

Techno looks out his window out onto the expansive, snow-covered banks of the frosty wasteland he calls home. There’s not even a mob to be seen beneath the full moon’s glimmering light— it’s far too cold for the zombies and skeletons at this hour, and they know better than to come close to his cottage.

He enjoys being alone, he does, but sometimes the loneliness catches up to him. There’s nothing like being able to make your own decisions, or do whatever you please without the oppressive opinions of others; but even for the most reclusive characters, solitude catches up with you. Human interaction is necessary. His horse and the occasional spider are hardly enough.

The brewing stand behind him bubbles and fizzes, the sole noise in the otherwise deathly silence. That’s one thing that Techno never expected living so far north, away from the forest and thrum of activity that was civilization— the complete, suffocating quiet. 

He always thought he liked being alone in his thoughts. But not now. The utter emptiness around him, not even the rustle of branches or the lowing of cows, only amplifies the painstaking loneliness he can’t shake.

Sometimes he would have visitors. He wasn’t completely without hope, he supposed— Phil knew where he lived, and then there was that amnesiatic ghost. But they were both temporary, the former taking up residence in far-off L’manberg and the other more a spectral nomad than a neighbor. He enjoys their presences, Phil’s especially, but it just makes it more bittersweet when they leave. A reminder of what he’s missing out on in his retirement.

‘Retirement’ doesn’t seem like the right word for his situation. ‘Self-imposed banishment’ is better, he thinks.

He’s not too far off from banishment, though. Just because nobody sent him here specifically doesn’t mean he’s welcome back by any means. ‘Retirement’ is the nicest way he can put it to himself— he has nowhere else to go.

The bubbling stops. He turns on his heel, fur cape whirling behind him. He could— should— take it off, impractical as it is for normal attire, but the fire burning in the upstairs fireplace and the small lights of his torches are hardly enough to keep the cottage warm in the freezing cold. The walls keep out the biting wind, but do little to prevent the frigid air from leaking through the cracks. 

He’s been brewing potions much more than usual recently, sensing something sinister on the horizon. His peace has lasted too long.

And there’s not much else for him to occupy himself with, either.

The potion of the Turtle Master, named for its ingredient of turtle shells, is one of the strongest recipes he’s ever gotten his hands on, and that’s saying something. When applied, it slows the user down, but does that really matter when it made you practically invincible? On top of the armor he’d spent hours working on and the other materials in his repertoire, he’d be untouchable should any danger befall him.

He hopes none will. But he’s a smart man, a logical one. And he knows that his lonely peace isn’t going to last forever.

He hums to himself as he removes and caps the still-fizzing potions, noting their pale purple hue and the fishy scent beginning to waft through his workspace. What exactly he hums, he’s not quite sure— some long-forgotten melody, one he doesn’t have a name to. Someone out there does, he’s sure.

Too soon his work is done, potions corked closed and tucked away with the others, and he’s left with nothing left to do but go to sleep.

Techno hates sleeping.

There’s always that creeping feeling that he’s not quite alone out here, even though he knows, rather painfully, that he is. Always that fear that some stray mob will come through, or worse, that someone will find his location and sneak in unnoticed, ending his retirement and his life with one quick stab.

The first few nights, when he was still constructing his house, he’d slept in his armor. As uncomfortable as it was, the solace it provided that it’d protect him from any one strike and harm his opponent all in one let him rest easier than he did now. 

Then again, he hadn’t truly slept comfortably in forever. Even when he lived in his base just outside L’manberg, or when he’d stayed with the others in Pogtopia, there was never a night that he completely and utterly felt safe.

Maybe nobody did anymore. The ghost, perhaps. If ghosts could sleep.

Such was just a fact of life in the state of constant war they all lived in. 

After climbing up the ladder that he should have built as stairs, Techno undoes the clasp to his fur-lined cape and sets it to hang on the wall beside his bed, missing its warmth in the few seconds it takes him to dive beneath the heavy white duvet.

The fire across from him will burn itself out eventually, but for now, he settles in, listening to the crackling of the dying embers and wishing its warmth reached a little bit farther into the room.

He gives up trying to sleep after what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, every creak of the floorboards an impending doom, every particularly loud pop of the fire causing his eyes to shoot wide open. He’s too on edge to leave himself so unprotected.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been brewing protective potions right before bed. Tomorrow he’d try out something more peaceful— maybe he’d try to start a farm somewhere nearby, where the ground wasn’t frozen. That’d tire him out. That’d distract him.

He climbs out of bed and pulls his cloak back on out of habit, feet bare and cold against the hard wood the minute he steps on it. He makes no noise as he pulls on a pair of woolen socks and shimmies back down his ladder, intending to get back to work on his potion-making. Certainly there was  _ something  _ he could be doing. You could never be over prepared for a battle.

When he turns around, he has to fight from shouting out in surprise.

Such a cowardly action would ruin his carefully crafted image.

Instead, he opts for a scowl, carefully trying to mask his surprise at the scrawny teenager staring at him across the room. His hands are buried into one of Techno’s chests, and his arms are bare, the sleeves looking torn off.  _ He must be freezing,  _ Techno thinks to himself.

“Techno,” the intruder says quietly, as if seeing a ghost, blue eyes round with some mixture of shock, fear, and a third emotion Techno can’t quite place from across the room. He guesses hunger based on the gauntness of his features, the shadows beneath his eyes, but somehow that doesn’t seem like enough. 

“Tommy,” Techno replies slowly, his frown melting away the more of his old friend he takes in. The dirtiness of his torn, ragged clothing, the pallor to his skin, the shake of his hands that he quickly holds up in surrender.

“Hi,” the boy says weakly. He gives a small smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, only making him look more pathetic to Techno’s scrutinizing glare. “How’s your night going?”

“How long have you been here?” Techno demands, hands instinctively flying to the sheathed sword that should be at his hip, had he not just taken it off to sleep. He pushes away his compassion as logic catches up to him— how did Tommy know where Techno was? Wasn’t he friends with Tubbo? 

“Are there others?” He adds when Tommy fails to respond. “Is this an ambush?”

“No,” Tommy replies quickly. “Please… it’s just me.”

“Nobody else knows this location?”

“Just me.” He swallows, feigned smile from before gone, hands still in the air. “Please don’t hurt me.”

It’s those four words that snap Techno back into reality.

Did he not ‘retire’ to put behind his violent ways?

And what threat does this scrawny, scared-looking teenager pose? He’s telling the truth— from the looks of it, at least, he’s in no position to lie. And Techno doubts that there are others hiding in his home unnoticed.

“I’m… not going to hurt you,” Techno says, finally, though he doesn’t even believe the words he’s spoken they sound so unconvincing. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“What  _ do  _ you do anymore?” Tommy asks, some trace of the Tommy Techno remembers leaking through with that one snippy retort. It fades away as soon as it comes, replaced by Tommy collapsing to his knees with a grimace. His right hand flies up to his left shoulder, face contorted into a grimace.

Techno’s at his side before his brain can catch up with his heart. In that moment, he forgets the months of conflict the pair has had, his carefully constructed image, his concerns for how exactly Tommy got into his house in the first place. All he sees is a friend in pain, or, at least, someone in need in pain.

He’s an anarchist, sure, somewhat of a recluse, and one of the best combatants out there, but he recognizes that Tommy has been through far too much. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t.

The boy in front of him is not his enemy.

“What happened to you?” Techno whispers as he holds Tommy upright, leaning him against the now closed chest he was rifling through. It’s then that he notices that the red to his shirt is not the usual fabric, but rather crimson blood, seeping through from some wound on his shoulder. 

“Tommy,” Techno adds, harsher, when the boy neglects to answer. “Is someone here? Did someone hurt you?”

“N-no,” Tommy stutters out, face pale. Upon closer inspection Techno notes that his eyes are not the vibrant blue they once were, and now had faded, much like the rest of him, into a pathetic, desaturated grey. “I… fell.”

Techno finds a knife lying on his table and cuts away the bloody fabric, eyes widening at the thin, linear gash beneath it that is definitely  _ not  _ from a simple fall. He keeps his judgement to himself as he gets up again for a spare potion of healing, thankful that he spends his free time brewing far too many potions.

“Have you really been alone out here, all this time?” Tommy asks as Techno turns to his potions’ chest, selecting a dark pink one and uncorking it with a  _ pop  _ that resounds through the otherwise poignant silence. “Does anybody else know this is here?”

“Just Phil,” Techno replies shortly. “Ghostbur too.”

“Dream?” Tommy asks.

“Not that I know of.”

It’s been awhile since Techno’s needed his first-aid materials, so it takes him a second to find the bandages and disinfectant he normally uses. Tommy watches him in silence as he flits from chest to chest.

“Are there any more?” Techno finally asks when he returns to Tommy’s side, immediately beginning to clean the open wound.

Tommy’s face contorts in pain at Techno’s sudden ministrations, not expecting his uncharacteristic (and sudden) attentiveness. “Well?” Techno demands when he’s stopped. “Are there more?”

“More what?” Tommy manages to get out.

“Injuries,” Techno says slowly, as if it’s obvious. “From your… fall.”

“No.”

“Lucky fall.”

Tommy doesn’t respond as Techno pours out the healing potion onto a bandage, some of it spilling out carelessly onto the floor. Techno doesn’t give any indication that he notices, wrapping the saturated linen around Tommy’s upper arm.

“Why are you helping me?” Tommy finally asks after more uncomfortable minutes of uncharacteristic silence, Techno’s expertly-brewed potion already beginning to alleviate the pain brought about from his ‘fall.’ “I broke into your house.”

“I know.”

“I was stealing your things.”

“I have plenty to spare.”

“I helped you take down a government and then started my own!”

Tommy’s voice has lost its pitiful edge, and once again Techno sees the Tommy he left behind in L’manberg.

“I don’t care,” Techno responds. He gets to his feet and drops the leftover supplies into one of his chests haphazardly, not bothering to see where they land.

“Why?” Tommy demands, still huddled against the chest.

Techno ignores him and begins to walk back to his ladder. He knows that he can’t sleep now, but at least he’ll have some space to think.

“Why, Techno?”

Tommy’s voice shakes.

“Why? Why don't you just kill me? Why are you helping me?”

Techno stops walking, his back still to the boy.

“Why-”

“Look at you, Tommy!”

Techno rarely raises his voice. Even in battle, or when he’s desperately trying to get a hold of whoever is fighting alongside him, he always speaks in a calm, detached tone. He has to. If anybody knew the turbulent emotions that were constantly running through his mind, or got wind of just how deeply he felt about some things, he would have that many new weaknesses.

But he’s had enough of Tommy’s demands, his questioning. It’s hard enough for Techno to put aside his pride and help the poor kid. He can’t help when his voice raises, and with his back turned, he doesn’t catch Tommy’s flinch.

Techno turns, taking a deep breath and sizing up his new companion once more as he fights to regain his carefully crafted composure.

“Do you want me to kill you?” He asks, much more quiet, much more calm. “Or ignore you? Throw you out?”

“N-no,” Tommy stutters out in response.

“Then why are you questioning me?”

Techno has a feeling he knows the reason. Techno thinks he knows why Tommy felt the need to steal from him rather than just ask, and he has an idea why Tommy is so surprised by his actions. He’s worked so hard to build up a reputation— a reputation that crumbled the moment somebody he cared about was in trouble.

But Techno, for once, is wrong. 

“I don’t know who to trust anymore,” Tommy practically whispers. “I don’t know who is on my side. Who is going to hurt me.”

It’s then that social conventions, and Techno’s curiosity, catch up to him.

What  _ happened  _ to Tommy? Why is he here? And why does he look… .like  _ that _ ?

“Are you tired?” Techno asks. “Do you need sleep?”

“No,” Tommy replies, the confusion at the sudden topic change evident in the furrow of his brows. “Why?”

Techno answers, “because you’re going to tell me everything that happened to you since I saw you last.”

Techno sits down across Tommy, the latter now changed into a pair of Techno’s clothes that are not tattered, torn, or bloodied and provide a much-needed shield from the chill of his cottage. He hasn’t touched the plate of steak and bread that is set in front of him, eyes round as he sizes it up.

Techno nudges it towards him with another uncorked bottle of a healing potion. There are no more visible wounds on Tommy’s person, but Techno doubts that the boy is telling him the truth when he says his shoulder wound was the sole result from his ‘fall.’

“You’re not eating?” Tommy says weakly, glancing up to his friend. Techno shakes his head.

“It’s the middle of the night. I ate hours ago.”

“Where did this steak come from? There aren’t any cows around here.”

“No, but I have a horse to take me to places that do have them.” He nods to the potion and the meal. “Please eat. I’m wasting precious resources on you if you don’t.”

“Fine,” Tommy says, the scrape of his knife and fork against his plate loud in the silence of Techno’s bottom floor. That silence was never as oppressive to Techno as it was now that there was someone else here with him— was it like this when Phil would come to visit? Or Ghostbur?

“I’ll talk while you do that,” Techno says, anxious to fill said silence. “I’m sure you have questions. As do I.”

“Mm,” Tommy says, mouth filled with steak. Despite his initial hesitation, he has hardly stopped to take a breath between bites.

“I built this place after the… events at the Festival. My secret base was no longer a secret, and I needed to get away from everyone for awhile. Focus on myself.”  _ To put things nicely.  _ “The only person who knew was Phil. He helped me, but he didn’t stay— he’s still in L’Manberg, where I sincerely hope nobody knows of his involvement with me.

“I don’t know of anybody else who lives up here. I sometimes sneak back into L’Manberg to meet with someone or collect some things, but most of what I need is up here. Their petty conflicts don’t concern me. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on in their political scene, who’s in power, who isn’t… so you’ll have to forgive my ignorance at your situation.”

Tommy grimaces at something Techno says, and he hopes that he hasn’t offended the boy. It’s not normal that he’s so quiet in Techno’s presence, nor so openly vulnerable.

Techno’s not the only one who worked hard to craft himself an image.

It’s hardly been a few minutes when Tommy’s plate is clean, not a single morsel left. He downs the healing potion in one quick swig and sets the empty glass down, looking better already. Or maybe Techno’s imagining things.

“You said Ghostbur knows this place, too?” He asks, somewhat hopeful. “He never mentioned it to me.”

“Yes, when he’s in the area doing god-knows-what he’ll come visit.” Techno shrugs. “I don’t pay him too much mind. He’s easy to tune out.”

“But you like him.”

“Of course I do. He’s the ghost of my friend. He’s still my friend.”

“Am I your friend?”

Jarring, out of place questions should be something that Techno expects from Tommy, but somehow the simple phrase shakes him. He blinks before he responds, “of course.”

Techno’s loyalties are few and far between these days— before Tommy’s sudden appearance in his cabin, he would have only named Phil and perhaps his horse. Ghostbur doesn’t need him; you can’t die twice. And he’s only a shell of the friend Techno used to have.

Of course Tommy was his friend. Time had passed, things had happened... but Techno didn’t forget the precious memories he had with his friend before everything.

This doesn’t seem to be the response Tommy is expecting. “Even after everything?”

“That’s all in the past, Tommy. We’re new people.” He can’t look Tommy in the eyes anymore, his gaze too piercing. Too reminiscent of the one Techno left behind. “We’ve both been through things.”

“Clearly,” Tommy mutters, and Techno doesn’t know who he’s referring to.

“Anyway.” Techno clears his throat as he rises to pick up Tommy’s used dishes, discarding them and returning with a simple glass of water. “Question time.”

Whatever semi-amicable moment they’d just shared disappears. Tommy begins to squirm in his seat.

“How long have you been in my home?” Techno begins. “And where have you been hiding?”

“Two days,” Tommy says quietly. “And I’ve been staying in your cellar.”

“I don’t have a cellar.” Techno narrows his eyes at the obvious lie.

“Um.” Tommy looks away, down to the floor. “Now you do. I made it.”

“You… made a cellar under my house?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been staying there? For two days?”

“Yes.”

Techno doesn’t have a response. He prides himself on his constant vigilance, his alertness to his surroundings. Certainly he would have noticed the excavation of a basement beneath his current one, or the presence of another human in his home. Especially ones like Tommy, who have such an overwhelming personas.

Though he does seem to have lost that recently.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says quietly when Techno still doesn’t answer, busy stewing over all the details he’s missed. Chests being left open, or things missing that shouldn’t be… how couldn’t he have noticed? How did he miss this?

“I had nowhere else to go,” Tommy continues. “I couldn’t go back to L’Manberg.”

“Back?”

“Yes. Back.”

Techno furrows his brows, pausing his spiralling. “Why’d you leave?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Techno doesn’t like not knowing things, and it’s bad enough that he’s just been made aware of someone living in his house without his knowledge.

He cocks his head, trying to recall what Tommy is talking about. Last he’s heard, there was political strife in L’Manberg— Tommy, the Vice President, having simple disagreements with his President (and best friend), Tubbo. At that point, Tommy still disliked Techno. 

Techno had deemed it unnecessary to look into further. That was all he knew.

None of that should have resulted in the scrawny, shabby boy across from him.

“I was exiled, Techno,” Tommy says softly. “Tubbo banished me. Dream took me someplace far off.”

“For what?”

“Nothing big.” Tommy looks away. “Nothing you’d disapprove of.”

“Tommy?”

“Nothing that should have gotten me where I was.”

Techno decides not to press for further details. He could get that eventually, but he had a feeling that Tommy wouldn’t do anything  _ too  _ drastic considering his love for L’Manberg and its people.

Techno’s withers decimated him emotionally. How could he stomach anything a fraction as bad as that?

“What does ‘exile’ entail?” Techno asks, thinking of his own situation. Did Tommy have his own little cottage, his own patch of nowhere?

“I had to start over. No items, no home.” Tommy swallows and looks toward the doors, as if expecting someone to walk through them. “Ghostbur helped. He thought we were on vacation, though.”

“And nobody knew where you were?”

“Dream did. Some others would come to visit sometimes, but they’d always leave.”

Tommy says Dream’s name with acid in his tone, spitting it rather than stating it.

“It was terrible, Techno. Dream… I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if he was trying to help me. If he was my friend. He was the only one there for me, the only one who helped me.” Tommy’s pace quickens, words blending together as he rambles. It’s the most Techno’s heard him speak all day, and as his story continues, his eyes grow wider, his gaze becomes more distant, like he’s looking past Techno rather than at him. Like he’s not really there.

“He’d protect me from mobs. He helped me build my house. But he would… every day, Techno, he’d take my things. He’d hit me if I didn’t comply.” His eyes, which Techno has been watching intently, grow glassy. “He’d burn my armor every morning. He’d keep me from going anywhere, from people visiting me…but he was kind to me.”

“It doesn’t sound like he was kind to you, Tommy,” Techno says, ice in his voice that he tries to keep away. There are still gaps that he needs filled in, but based on what he knows about Tommy and Dream, he has a decent idea of what had been going on. “I wouldn’t call taking your things and hitting you ‘being kind.’”

“But, Techno, he told me he was my friend.” Tommy looks away and sniffs, fighting hard to mask his turmoil. “He was the only one to visit me.”

“Because he put you there.”

“He didn’t have a choice.”

“You-”

Tommy looks back at Techno, stopping him before he can even start his chiding. There’s a time and place for that, he thinks. And that’s not right now, when Tommy is so clearly conflicted about who is and isn’t on his side.

“Why did you leave?” Techno asks instead. “Why are you here now? And how did you find me?”

“I… didn’t know you lived here.” He takes a breath and looks around again, like he can’t quite believe he’s here. “I was just trying to get away.”

“You didn’t answer the first question,” Techno says flatly.

“Why I left?”

“Yes.” Techno doesn’t quite believe his story— maybe Ghostbur told him of Techno’s whereabouts in one of his visits to the exiled boy. Next time he came over, Techno would have to have a word with him about sharing his location.

“I… had a realization.”

“Why? What changed?”

Techno’s smart enough to know that a change of heart like the one Tommy is describing wouldn’t come across from simple logic and rationality, especially for someone like him. That seemed to be off the table a long time ago— so Dream, or somebody, must have done something.

Sure enough, Tommy says quietly, “Dream found out that I was communicating with some people back in L’Manberg and blew up. Um, literally. My base exploded with all my things.He hurt me. He destroyed  _ everything. _ ”

“This doesn’t sound like ‘being kind,’ Tommy.” Techno can’t help but point out the flaw in his friend’s reasoning, the contrast between his statements, despite his earlier vow to leave his judgements aside for the moment.

“It’s just because I broke the rules.” Tommy hangs his head. “But it made me think. Those rules… they weren’t to keep me in. They were to keep me out of L’Manberg.”

“Isn’t that the point of an exile?”

“Shut up.” His blue eyes narrow. “Dream doesn’t like things he can’t control. That’s why he doesn’t like you, and he doesn’t like me.”

“But he’s your friend?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know, Technoblade!”

Tommy’s voice raises an octave, but he quickly recovers, taking a deep breath and looking down to the cold stone floor.

“I’m so afraid of him, Techno, but I think he fears me too. Because I’m unpredictable. And I don’t listen to him. But that’s exactly what he was trying to get me to do, and I won’t let him! I won’t let him control me. I won’t be afraid of him any longer.”

“So you ran away.”

“Yes. I did. And I found this place, and I realized it’s where you’re living, and I meant to just get a hold of myself and then head somewhere else but-” Tommy catches himself before he can continue, stopping abruptly.

“But?”

Tommy doesn’t respond, but Techno has an idea of where he’s going.

“You’re welcome here, Tommy,” he says, voicing the thought for the first time. “I won’t force you to stay here. But if you already have a room, I have more than enough supplies to share.” 

“You mean I can stay?” Tommy whispers. He sounds like he doesn’t believe it.

“Of course you can,” Techno responds. “Of course. You’re my friend. You’re welcome here.”

_ Where else could you go?  _ He almost says.  _ What else would you do? _

Why would Techno turn him out?

“Really?” The boy breathes. His harsh demeanor crumbles.

“I mean it, Tommy.”

Tommy is up and across the table in seconds, his frail arms wrapped around a surprised Techno before Techno understands what’s happening.

“Thank you,” Tommy mumbles.

Techno reaches up to awkwardly pat his back.

What had happened to this boy? This boy who so passionately hated his guts only months ago, who had so much pride, so much passion… so much hate?

Tommy, still folded into Techno’s arms, begins to sob quietly— the sort of tears that come only when you’re trying hard to hide them, the ones that make you gasp and shake.

Techno’s never harbored any ill will for Dream before, nothing personal, really, but seeing his friend so broken, so despondent after what he did to him… he can’t imagine the sorts of things that Tommy is keeping from him, the fear he’s repressing.

In that moment, he vows that the next time he sees the green man, it won’t be pretty.

He might have sworn off his violent ways for now. He might have been across from Tommy on the battlefield before. He might have purposefully kept himself from everything, isolated, alone in his little cabin. But that all changed now.

Nobody was broken like this in an honorable way.

And nobody did something like this to Techno’s family. 


End file.
